


Stand Me Up

by PlasmaBooks



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: F/M, Kinda, sad but happy, this is so sweet and im honestly really proud of it???, uncle aaron haunts our boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 11:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasmaBooks/pseuds/PlasmaBooks
Summary: “I’m sorry, Miles.”It’s all she can really say. It’s what she should have said five years ago, when Peter confronted him in his room. It’s what she should have said five years ago, the moment Peter told her what Miles had just went through minutes before.The glare that deepens as she says this suggests that maybe even a boy as forgiving as Miles hasn’t entirely forgiven her yet."Even five years after the fact, Miles is still haunted by his uncle's passing.Some memories don't leave. Some memories can't be erased.The most anyone can do is love him through it. And that's what Gwen plans to do.





	Stand Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome! Just a few things I wanted to add before we get started: 
> 
> 1.) This was written listening to the song "I Don't" by Koda. It's really atmospheric and helped me construct this piece in a way I don't think any song ever would. I highly suggest you give it a listen and, if you're able, play it on repeat while reading this. 
> 
> 2.) There is a single line in this story taken from The Lion King. If you've seen the movie, it probably isn't that hard to miss (and no, it isn't "long live the king".) 
> 
> 3.) This is, in part, unrelated to the story's events, but just in case you were curious: Miles is eighteen in this story, while Gwen is nineteen. 
> 
> With that being said, I truly hope you enjoy! And if you do, comments are appreciated over anything else!

The door peels open slowly, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s staring blankly at the far wall, sitting criss-cross on his bed, not even responding to the noise of the door shutting moments after.

Gwen lingers in the doorway for a moment, taking in the gravity of the scene. There’s anger flickering in Miles’s eyes, but he sits still, as if most of his heart is too dead to take action. She wouldn’t doubt that it is.

Somebody had gone way too far at school, as she feared they would eventually, and they had sent him into a flashback. A silent one, where she could see his fists clench and his body tense up and his teeth grit. And the fear. She could see the fear, too.

His body was coming out of its lockdown, one of the many stupid things it’d do when the flashbacks would happen.

His parents had no idea; they had known something was up when he came through the door, but they hadn’t followed him to his room.

Gwen had stopped them halfway, and they knew her and trusted her enough by now to believe her when she whispered that she had it under control.

So they linger in the kitchen. In worry.

And now Gwen is here, in his room, without an idea on how to start off. She knows what to do, but not how to start. It’s like writing a book, having bits and pieces of the dialogue and events in her head but lacking the idea for even the first word.

She just needs his attention first.

“Miles?”

She knows better than to expect him to just look at her, so she watches his body. He slumps, falling out of his rigid state.

Now she walks.

They’re baby steps, small and tentative, as if she were a rabbit approaching a wolf.

She presses her hand palm-first onto the bed, letting him know she’ll be climbing in.

There’s no response.

Miles draws his knees to his chest, bringing his chin down to rest on his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs.

“I’m sorry, Miles.”

It’s all she can really say. It’s what she should have said five years ago, when Peter confronted him in his room. It’s what she should have said five years ago, the moment Peter told her what Miles had just went through minutes before.

The glare that deepens as she says this lets her know that even a boy as forgiving as Miles hasn’t entirely forgiven her yet.

“I’m really, really sorry.”

_Five years too late, Gwen._

No response anymore. She turns her attention to the beige wall he’s staring at, and then her heart sinks, because she discovers he’s not just staring at the wall. There’s a drawing there. The design hits her full force.

It’s the sketchier, smaller version of Miles’s “Rest in Power” mural that he put up at the police station. Five years ago. It’s been left untouched since then, protected only by the fact that nobody has the heart to screw with it. Some of the colors have faded by now. Miles has always made promises to go back and recoat it.

Now all he wants to do is knock down the wall it sits on. And he doesn’t know why.

“I _try_ ,” He says softly, feeling the bed shift in pressure as Gwen gets comfy on the bed. “I try… to not want him dead.”

Gwen, almost immediately, knows who the boy is referring to. Kingpin, halfway through his 12 year sentence. Everybody had their own battles, and their own share of loss from them. But they all had agreed a long time ago that nothing could compare to Miles’s losses. Not by a long shot.

“I try not to think about it when I see him on TV…” Miles continues softly. “I try not to just… imagine me going in that cell and…” His voice trails off, trying to leave some of his darkest wishes unsaid.

But Gwen knows. Because she’s thought of it too.

“It’s not me.” Miles whispers. “That’s not who they… they see when I come through the city. That’s not what they think of when they think of me. I’m supposed to… I’m supposed to be level-headed all the time, and I-I… I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.”

“Him” is another person now. But Gwen knows. She’s staring right at a portrait of him. 

“It’s all going to be okay.” She says softly. “He’d never be disappointed in you. You meant the world to him. You still do. And he’d want you to know that.”

Miles pulls back, lifts his head. “...Maybe…”

“No, not ‘maybe’.” She corrects, lifting her head as well. “You know it’s true. And you know why. Because that day, on that roof, he spared your life.”

“And _lost_ _his_.” Miles mumbles. There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice. “There was so much more I could have done.”

“Stop.”

“I could have got him out of there… instead I just… d-dropped down into a fucking alley and…”

“Miles.”

She turns her body around on the bed, and grabs both his hands, pulling them off of his knees. It takes his attention off the wall and to her.

She looks him in the eyes, earnesty and grief and pity and sympathy mixing together in her expression.

“You gotta _stop_ , Miles.”

He knows what she means. Stop blaming himself, thinking about everything he could have done that he didn’t.

It’s a difficult concept to imagine, letting go like that. Admittedly, he doesn’t.

He just relaxes.

Gwen slowly lets his hands go, and they just as slowly retract to their original spot atop his knees.

“I just want him to be here…” He murmurs, beginning to curl in on himself.

Gwen reaches out again, gently gripping his chin, grabbing his attention once more. She lifts his head up, reaching her free hand behind her, pointing right at the drawing they once stared at together.

“He is here.”

Miles swallows, bringing the lump in his throat to an almost suffocating intensity.

“Miles, he lives on in you. And I know you’ve made him proud. You’ve changed the world for everybody in this city. Do you know how many kids wake up each morning and tell their parents they want to be just like you? How many kids have the courage to put themselves out there because finally they see somebody that looks like them doing great things every single day?”

Tears well to the brim before he can stop them. He has nothing left to hide, so he lets them go.

“You’ve fought tooth and nail against _everything_ , Miles.” Gwen continues. “And Aaron couldn't have asked for a better nephew.” Her free arm comes down and brings itself around him, the other following suit. He slides, dejectedly, into what can only be described as an oxymoronic, gentle bear hug. “You are everything he wanted you to be. No matter what you’ve done, no matter what you’ll do in the future, you’ve made him proud. You’ve made _all_ of us proud.”

The lump in his throat is too big now, and he can’t breathe that well, so he sobs.

It’s quiet, riddled with gasps for air and whines, but it’s relief.

The arms around him tighten, pulling him in closer. He breathes in the scent of coconuts wafting from her hair, still cut the exact same as it was five years ago.

Time has hardly touched her.

And it doesn’t touch them.

She sits there with him in silence while he sorts it all out. It takes minutes that she doesn’t count, minutes that she doesn’t mind.

But eventually, he’s quiet.

Gwen leans down slowly, gently. Her lips touch his forehead, and he welcomes it, leaning against her in exhaustion.

It all feels the way it felt five years ago, from the way she holds him to the way she smells, to the way her hand gently moves up and down the small of his back, to the way the pain in his heart slowly ebbs, numbs, and then disappears because of it.

Time has hardly touched her.

He couldn’t be more grateful.


End file.
